i married an amnesiac waffle lady

there was a cafe _ one of those converted from an old craftsman bungalow still standing around pasadena _ and she was serving belgian waffles with some kind of chicken salad or tuna or pink salmon filling, or at least that's what it looked like.

we decided to take her in _ this 20-something woman with her waffles _ because we could used the extra help with my wheelchair-bound grandmother, who is now no longer with us. but we think of her often _ sometimes in the waking hours, sometimes in sleep.

she said she is recovering from amnesia _ she was in a coma for a couple years after some unspecified accident. she woke up in 2005 with little recollection of those loved ones who kept vigil over her in those crucial months living between sleep and death.

but she still remembers how to use a light switch.

my mother hired her _ perhaps out of pity _ though anyone who thought of stuffing mayonaised chicken or tuna or salmon with capers into a belgian waffle is a rare talent in my book. ma also proposed i marry the amnesiac waffle lady.

a little embarrassed, i left for a stroll around the neighborhood _ a hodgepodge of fragmented places. there was the central plaza from san francisco's japantown, which empties into the stanley and mid-level markets of hong kong, another flea market flanked by towering singaporean shop houses and their 9-foot walkways, a slice of verona, and edinburgh knick-knack stands.

i put one foot before the other, deliberately losing myself between western tourists decked out in navy blue qing dynasty mandarin robes and feather caps and amahs hauling sacks of fresh fish and poultry from the wet market.